


ignite me

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, I'm not sorry, Jon is an FBI Agent, Romance, Sansa is a senior in college, Smut, There's plot in this but not that much, and more - Freeform, because why not, it just hits different with the age gap, lots of it cause it seems i'm in the mood, there is in my head though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: "It’s a gift."Because I missed you. Because I want you to wear it and think of me. Because I want to help you take it off and then kiss you all over.Those are all things he doesn't say.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 86
Kudos: 250





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to mani, because she inspired me.
> 
> also there's no smut in this chapter (I'M SORRY) cause i had to set the mood but chapter two is just pure, dirty smut (lots of it becuase that's how my brain functions).
> 
> also i'm not american and english is not my first language so i'm sorry if the vocabulary doesn't feel very 70s and all my knowledge of the FBI comes from tv shows 😭
> 
> hope you enjoy! ❤

The kitchen clock marks 9:25 pm, the little black tail of the cat swaying back and forth with every second passing. Sansa stands over the counter, back to the sink, body facing the front door. Her arms are crossed over her chest, fingers digging on her skin even through the fabric of her long sleeved dress. On the square table lies two sets of plates, silverware and cups, facing each other. The cloth napkins lay forgotten on the marble counter, and on the stove a bowl of brown rice, rosbife with gravy and mashed potatoes, all cold by now. 

He’s almost two hours late.

She blows out a breath, considers lighting another cigarette, but she washed her hair for tonight, with the strawberry shampoo he likes so, and she doesn’t want to smell too much of smoke. The clock keeps ticking and there’s not much to do other than wait, her lipstick almost all gone from how she’s pulling the skin from her lower lip with her teeth. She considers packing everything and going to bed, using her ear buds so she won’t hear if the doorbell rings, taking the phone off the hook so it won’t wake the girls in case he finally decides to give her a call. Jeyne is already asleep, and she can hear Alys blow drying her hair on the room above the kitchen before she gets into bed. The three of them have early classes in the morning, and Sansa knows she should call it a night, but he hasn’t even called yet. He always calls if he’s gonna be late, on the rare occasion that he is. And he never, ever, stands her up. Tonight’s a first and she should probably be angry at him but she’s more worried than anything else, and the thought annoys her because it only serves to show how head over heels she is for him.

Falling for Jon Snow was definitely not in her plans.

At 9:32 she gives in and heads to the living room, lowering herself down before the small liquor cabinet her father gifted them when she rented the house with the girls. She was only twenty then but Ned Stark often likes to spoil his daughters and he thought Sansa was mature enough to be responsible about it. Two years later, the cabinet is barely full, with the three of them preferring champagne to any strong liquor, but she grabs a bottle of whiskey that was left behind from one of the many parties Jeyne throws with Theon and she opens it up, pouring herself a glass. It’s too strong for her liking, but she drowns it down her throat anyways, burning and making her cough. The bottle is half empty, and she thinks of how Jon usually has a glass whenever he comes over for dinner, while she’s drinking a cup of coffee. She pours another one for herself, drowns it down again, the burning sensation still there, and pours a third one, putting the bottle back in its place. The whiskey warms her up, helping easy her nerves, and she walks towards the green sofa, holding her drink in hand, wondering if she should turn the radio on, but that might disturb her friends, so she justs sips on her drink in silence and sits down, legs crossed, her bare foot swinging to the sound of an unexisting beat.

They haven’t seen each other in two weeks, with him working on a case in Memphis, but he’d called two days ago to make plans for tonight. _I’ll be there at 7:30, baby._ She hates how her heart beats faster at the thought. He never uses pet names, always so serious, calling her Miss Stark up until the night he picked her up on that first night. Yet when she kissed him in his car after their third date, his austereness quickly gave away into a whispered “your lips taste like cherry and lemon pie, baby”, and she only kissed him harder for it. The day before yesterday he sounded tired, his voice lower than usual even for a phone call, and the sound of the pet name on his lips made her smile, but now, even though the memory brings her fondness, it also helps to grow the small feeling that something might have not been right with him.

It's 9:45 when she gets up, drink finished, feeling lightheaded and tired and too sad to stay up any longer. She starts heading to the kitchen to put everything away, her mind already wondering if it would be too bad to skip first period in the morning, knowing that her mood will be sour.

That's when the doorbell rings.

* * *

_Fuck fuck fuck_

He's late.

So very, very late.

Jon checks his clock. A quarter to ten. _Jesus fuck._ He breathes in, runs a hand through his sleep tousled hair, wonders if he should ring the doorbell again. He can see from the window that the living room's light is still on, and that gives him hope, but the second floor is all dark and he doesn't want to wake up her roommates. It's a Thursday, and he knows from her schedule that the three of them have some sort of history lesson in the morning. Or maybe it's literature. He’s not sure, can't think straight from how fast his brain is racing, from how quick he'd gotten ready and drove to her place, trying to avoid being later than he already was.

Just when he considers knocking, thinking that won’t be so desperate as ringing the bell a second time, the door starts unlocking. He swallows, bothered by how fast his heart is beating. _Too eager,_ he thinks, and it's true. He missed her, it had only been two weeks but _fuck,_ how he'd missed Sansa. He would've called her every night if he didn't know Edd would never let him hear the end of it. Things were already bad enough, with the guys at Quantico giving him shit for dating a college girl, but he just couldn't help it. From the moment he saw her at Jimmy’s, he had to ask her out. Two months later, he’s at her doorstep, a package in hand, eager to see her even if he is completely beat from having just faced an eleven hour drive. He missed her, her voice, her laugh, her smell. He missed everything about her, damn it, he missed her even when his mind was supposed to be focusing on other things, like the pile of bodies and the lack of clues.

His mind quickly goes blank as the door opens, and all he sees is her, in a tight long sleeved yellow dress, zipped at the front all the way to her cleavage, an inch from being too short, her long creamy legs bare to her feet, pink polish on her toes. She wears her hair down, the way he likes it, red locks brushed nicely back, a few strands framing her face. A vision, really, just for him. 

And she looks _real mad._

"Before you say anything, I have a perfectly good explanation."

She crocks her eyebrow at him, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes go over him, focusing for a moment on the package in his hand, but she doesn’t say anything about it, just stares back at him, voice ice cold. "Let's hear it, then."

It doesn’t phase him, and he tries a half smile. "Gotta let me in first, baby."

_I need to stop calling her that,_ but it's getting harder to put up a serious face whenever he's near her. There's just something about Sansa, something that makes him want to stop caring about his solemn reputation as an agent, about whether or not he's being taken seriously by those around him. With her, he can always… _breathe._ How incredibly cliché of him, to be freed from his stiff manners by a woman, and yet it's the truth. He's been more himself during these past two months with her than through all his years at the Academy, and even now, at thirty one, he still feels like he's playing a part half the time he's on duty, just so he can get his point across a room filled with stern colleagues and their judgment.

But never with her.

She still looks mad but he notices how her shoulders seem to relax, her sky blue eyes soften a bit, and she bites at her lower lip, her mouth slightly curling at the corners. A sign that she likes the pet name, a sign that she also missed him, maybe? Hell, he sure hopes she did. This thing between them is quite unexpected and he can't really remember the last time he's been so hung up on a woman. First year of the Academy, maybe, when he was with Ygritte, but it had never been like this, it hadn't felt like this. 

This thing with Sansa is just...something else entirely.

"So, can I come in?"

She looks down again at his hand, to the package with red wrapping paper, then back up at him, tilting her face just a little. "Is that for me?"

She smiles.

_Fuck,_ but he sure does love it when she smiles like that, just for him.

"It’s a gift." _Because I missed you. Because I want you to wear it and think of me. Because I want to help you take it off and then kiss you all over._

Those are all things he doesn't say.

He simply waits, ‘cause she's smiling, even if she's trying not to, ‘cause her hands toy with the ends of her hair, ‘cause she leans on one foot, rubs her calf with the other. She'll let him in, alright.

And he’s even more sure she might've missed him too.

"You can't spoil me every time you're late."

"I don't intend on being late much often, but I do plan to continue spoiling you."

She rolls her eyes at that, and it takes all his hard earned self control not to pull her in for a kiss. It's crazy, how hard he's fallen, how eager he is for her. Crazy, yeah, that's the word. There's nothing sane about this, nothing sane about dating Sansa Stark. His mind only sees her, only thinks of her, and that could make his life real difficult but he doesn't give a damn about it, not right now, not today, probably not tomorrow either.

She pushes away from the door, starts walking ahead of him towards the kitchen, hips swaying, giving him a nice view of her ass on the tight yellow dress and his mouth feels very dry.

Yeah, he won’t be giving a damn about it anytime soon.

* * *

She's so screwed.

She's way in over her head with this one, she knows it, and there's nothing she can do about it.

‘Cause she's crazy smitten for Jon Snow.

His dark curls are messier tonight, dark eyes tired, but he looks _so good._ Maybe it's just because she misses him. Or maybe it's the blue shirt he's wearing, with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his strong arms. She's got a weak spot for his hands and his arms, they make her mind picture the many ways he could _handle her._ She shivers at the thought, too forward even for her. _Must be the liquor._ Her mother had warned her about drinking with an empty stomach, but she feels fine now that he’s here. All her tiredness gone, her annoyance too, even if she should still be angry for the way he kept her waiting, but how can she? One look at him, standing so handsome on her doorstep, just one look and him calling her _baby_ and she’s all but melting. Gotta be a weakness, to feel this way for a man, has to be compromising her judgment somehow, all the chemicals in her brain, making her reheat dinner at ten p.m on a school night for a grown man who didn’t even bother to call.

But he’s her man.

At least it’s what it feels like, this sense of possessiveness she has for Jon. Like he’s hers, somehow, even if he isn’t, even if they’re nowhere near that yet, but her rapidly beating heart tells her she wants them to be.

She turns the oven back on with the rosbife inside, hears the front door locking just as she starts stirring the mashed potatoes again. His steps echo on the hardwood floor and she focuses her attention on the pan, trying to force herself to stop smiling before he sees her. There’s no good in her looking like a silly school girl in love, smiling to herself, when she’s already so self conscious of how he might find her childish ‘cause of her age. She urges her mouth to be still as she hears him pull out a chair, the sound of something resting on the metal seat, then he’s leaning against the counter next to her.

“There’s beer in the fridge if you want,” she hears herself say, mentally cursing at how soft her voice is. _School girl in love, indeed._ But when she steals a glance at him his eyes are on her, and despite his corner smile, he looks tired. He hasn’t shaved in a while, and she actually prefers him with his beard long like this, but she knows that’s a sign of too many early mornings and late nights. The bags under his eyes say the same, and there’s a permanent wrinkle starting to show up between his eyebrows from all his frowning at what must’ve been a countless number of complications during the case, and she desperately wants to place her lips there, to kiss his troubles away, to soothe the marked skin with her tongue, and keep on kissing him until he feels better. She blushes at how intimate the gesture would be, but it feels right, to give him a kiss on the forehead while she cooks him dinner after a long day at work. _Fuck,_ it feels too damn right to do that, and she can’t help but blushing, can’t keep the smile from coming back to her lips now, so she lower her eyes back to the food in the hopes that he won’t notice her rosy cheeks.

“I’m okay. Did you eat already?” he asks while she turns off the stove. The potatoes are good again, and she goes to grab an empty casserole to serve them but Jon’s hands find her waist, pulling her to him. She lets out a surprised yelp, to which he laughs at, softly, making her heart beat just a smidge faster. He raises a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, his thumb then gently caressing her cheek, while she rests both her hands on his chest. “So, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” she tells him. “I was waiting for you.”

He kisses her, then, his hand coming to tangle on her hair, pulling her closer to him. It’s slow, his lips lightly brushing hers at first, his tongue mapping the curve of her mouth, only to deepen when she opens herself for him. He tastes like mint and cigarettes, the cherry ones he started smoking after she said his usual brand was too strong for her liking, and God how she missed this, the feel of his mouth on hers, how she missed him. She sighs into the kiss and he presses her more firmly against him, his free arm coming to circle her waist, pulling her up until she’s standing on her tiptoes, body pressed fully to him. They stay like that for a while, with him taking his time to kiss her properly, and when he finally releases her mouth she feels dizzy, her cheeks are flushed pink and her swollen lips are still parted for him.

“You’ve been drinking, though.” His thumb now caresses her bottom lip. He looks flushed as well, his lips as pink as she imagines hers to be, and it makes her proud. “I can feel the whiskey on your tongue.” 

He still holds her by the waist so she lifts her arms to cross them around his neck. They’re not usually like this, affectionate, intimate, but tonight feels different. She feels this urge to be near him, to get even closer than they already are, and he appears to be feeling the same. It leaves her breathless in anticipation, and she tries to ignore the urge to kiss him again. “It was just a few shots, Jon. There was no one to keep me company while I waited.”

At the mention of that he closes his eyes, letting out a hot breath that she feels on her lips. “You know I’m sorry about that.” He’s looking at her now, his dark eyes filled with sorrow and affection, filling her with the realization that she’d give anything to keep his eyes from looking sad, to keep him from feeling sad. It seems inevitable to keep on falling, Sansa thinks, and maybe that’s a good thing, that she’s allowing herself to care for someone in the most vulnerable way.

“I do. What happened?”

He laughs, briefly, and looks away when speaking. “I fell asleep.”

He keeps on laughing even when she swats her hand at his chest. “That’s your _perfectly good_ explanation?!” She lifts her hand again but he catches it midair, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Yes, that's my explanation. I was tired from the drive.” He murmurs against her skin and she shivers from the gentleness of his mouth. “I took a hot bath and ended up falling asleep.”

“In the tub? Jon, you could’ve drowned.”

“I did,” he laughs. “That’s what woke me up, the sheer panic of soap water going down my lungs.”

“Oh my god, Jon!”

He’s still laughing, fingers intertwined with hers. “It’s alright, Sans. It’s a long way from Memphis to here, that’s all. The nap helped me regain my strength, though, so I suppose it was a good thing, even if it made me late.”

“You drove back all the way from Memphis? That’s twelve hours in a car.”

He smirks. “Eleven with good traffic.”

“Why didn’t you catch a flight? I’m sure the Bureau has a budget for that.”

“They do. They got us a flight for tomorrow afternoon, but I already had dinner plans.”

He’s not laughing anymore, and neither is she. _It’s a long way from Memphis to here, that’s all._ He’d driven half a day just to make it to their date. That’s what he’s saying, that he chose a long, very boring and lonely drive, instead of taking the flight with his partner, because he...couldn’t wait to see her? Sansa doesn’t know what to say, and they stay in silence for a while, looking each other in the eye, Jon’s thumb caressing the back of her hand.

Something shifts between them, something she thinks she knows but it’s still too soon to tell. Or maybe it isn’t, and she’s just being a coward. Maybe she knows for sure, and is just waiting to see if he knows it too, if he _feels it_ too, and maybe he does.

She really hopes he does.

The smell of rosbife catches her attention, and she looks up at the clock, breaking the tension between them. 10:15 p.m. She looks back at him with a small smile. “We should eat. I have an early class tomorrow.”

“I know,” he says, giving her a quick peck on the lips before helping her set the table.

The taste of his mouth lingers.

* * *

He’s quiet during dinner.

Sansa mostly talks about her thesis and school. She’ll be graduating at the end of the semester and she’s already sure to continue at George Manson University do her masters, which serves Jon really well since he intends on teaching at Quantico for as long as he can. The thought surprises him, but it’s true, he’s actually making long term plans when it comes to Sansa. That’s a first, considering his past of going with the motion, never having too many attachments as life set the course for him. Once again, he thinks of how things are different with Sansa. She makes him feel good about himself, in a way he hadn’t felt for a really long time, and he wants to be close with her. Take the next step, even. That should’ve been clear to him the moment he bought her that dress, the one that’s sitting wrapped up inside the red package, the one he hopes she’ll like. It’s a light blue, more or less matching the color of her eyes, and the minute he saw it at the store in Downtown Memphis he knew she’d look great wearing it. It was his first time ever buying a present from a woman’s clothing store, and the salesgirl had been kind enough to help him despite his awkwardness and clear inexperience.

It takes him some time to notice but Sansa has stopped talking and is staring down at her plate, meal half unfinished. “What’s wrong?” he asks. She doesn't lift her eyes from the food, her fork absentmindedly pushing around a few grains of rice. Her voice is low when she speaks. 

“You’re quieter than usual.”

He’s upsetted her with his silence. It’s not the first time it happened and it sure won’t be the last. All his life people have told him to speak up more, but Jon is a firm believer that silence is a great approach to learning one’s secrets, to getting people to tell you something they didn’t mean to, and that has served him well in his need to get the upper hand in any and all situations. During his training, he had quickly realized how much intel people would give out by a simple need to fill in the silence during a questioning, and that helped make him into a great agent.

But this isn’t just anyone, this is Sansa, and for some reason he has yet to figure out, too much silence bothers her. He’s been working on that since day one of their dating, but tonight he’s tired, despite his need to be with her. “I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Is it work?” she asks, and the concern on her voice tugs at something on his heart.

_It’s you,_ he wants to tell her. _You’re all I can think about, and yes, it’s making work difficult, especially because we have no idea what’s going on yet. No suspects, no clues, nothing but a pile of bodies that keeps growing and still, you’re the one thing in my head right now. Do you know how mad that makes me, Sansa? Do you know how mad I get when I need to travel to a different state for two weeks to try and help the local police solve a case that might be connected to something much bigger and the one thing on my mind is the sound of your laughter, the feel of your lips, the taste of your tongue? Do you know that you’re driving me crazy?_

There’s no way he’ll tell her that.

“Yes. To be completely honest with you, we’re way out of our league with this one.”

“The FBI is out of their league?”

She says it with disbelief, and Jon would agree with her if he didn’t know it to be true. “I know it sounds absurd but it’s very much happening. We have no clue of who’s doing this.”

“It’s the co ed killer, right?”

“What?”

“That’s what they’re calling him on TV. _The co ed killer._ I watched the news last night and there was a quick story about the murders.”

It’s true. Most of the victims were college students, and the few ones that weren’t had all been in their early twenties. _Like Sansa._ The thought has his pulse racing. If anything like that ever happened to her...he pushes the image to the back of his mind, focusing his attention on her icy blue eyes. She’s fine. This is a safe neighborhood and she can take care of herself, he knows it. There’s no need to be startling her, no need to create panic. Would he sleep better at night knowing she was safely tucked in bed next to him? Hell yeah, he would, but that’s just out of the question. They haven’t even slept together yet, which is incredibly old fashioned on his part but something keeps telling him he needs to wait a while with Sansa. Maybe it’s ‘cause she’s nine years younger _\- and fuck how the hell did this happen, how did he fall for a girl so young when he has no business doing that -_ maybe it’s just ‘cause he knows, deep down, once they sleep together there will be no holding back and he’s still not ready to admit how fast he’s falling for Sansa Stark. Either way, asking her to move in would be rushed and might ruin this good thing that they got, so there’s no way in hell he’ll be doing that.

He realises he’s too quiet again when her hand finds his on the table, their fingers intertwining. He smiles at her and she smiles back, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and resting her chin on her free hand. “Was it good?” and he silently thanks her for the change of subject, appreciating the fact that she can read a room just as well as he can, sometimes even more.

“It’s always good, Sans. Your cooking is something else.” She blushes at the compliment and he’s proud of himself for it, even prouder because it’s the truth. Sansa’s cooking is far more superior than any person who’s ever made him a meal, including his late mother, God bless her. Jon himself is a failure in the kitchen, and he would gladly eat only at Sansa’s house if she would let him. _At our house,_ he thinks, hopes, once again being way ahead of himself tonight.

He drops her hand after giving it a small squeeze and stands, picking up the plates and taking them to the sink. “You don’t have to do that,” she calls from behind him. “You’re tired, I can clean up tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t be silly, baby.” _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ “you cooked, it’s only fair that I do the dishes while you go try on the gift I got you.”

He turns on the sink and grabs a sponge, while hearing her stand up from her seat and walk towards him. “It’s a try on gift?” she asks, leaning next to him on the counter, the package in hand. He hums back affirmatively.

“How do you know if you got my size right?”

He looks at her now, his eyes trailing the shape of her body slowly, up and down, stopping again at her lips, the pretty pink lips he missed so much. “I took a guess. Hopefully it fits alright.” He sees her blushing from the intensity of his stare, on her cheeks, her neck, her chest, and he wonders how far down that blush goes. He wants to kiss her, right now, and maybe figure out about the blush, see if he can make it go down right to where he’s desperate to use his mouth on, but he stays put at the sink, urging his thoughts to dissolve to anything else other than a semi-naked Sansa when she tells him _be right back,_ and gives him a peck on the cheek.

His cock is half hard and his heart is full.

_Damn._

* * *

Sansa stares at herself in the mirror.

_Oh my._

She’s in the downstairs bathroom, her yellow dress laid forgotten on the small counter, her bra next to it, the open package on the floor, wrapping paper torn up in pieces from her hurry to get to the gift Jon bought her.

She expected it to be a dress.

What could it possibly be if not a dress?

Maybe a blouse, a nice skirt, a cute pair of high waisted pants, maybe colorful knee high socks, like the ones she likes wearing.

A jacket even, anything.

Anything but _this._

A silk, thin sleeved, incredibly soft nightgown. It’s blue, a shade darker than her eyes, and it comes to her mid thighs, not too extravagant were it not for the two huge slits on both sides, coming up to her waist, exposing her creamy white skin and the matching blue panties that came with the set. It’s so delicate, with a little bow at her cleavage, and she looks... _elegant,_ in a way, while also being terribly indecent.

She doesn’t know what to think of it.

They haven’t slept together yet, despite her efforts. Because, indeed, she’s made efforts towards him, in his car, at the movies, on the green couch in the living room. She’s not inexperienced, not in the slightest, having lost her virginity to Harry, her ex boyfriend of three years. She knows what she’s doing when she’s with someone, but other than Harry, Jon’s been the only guy she felt the urge, the need, to be with. The one _man._ That’s what he is, a man, and it leaves her breathless sometimes, the way he looks at her when she pushes him, when she makes a move, when she grinds her hips over his, feeling how hard he is for her. She’s very aware of how much he wants her, at least in this way, and she understands that he might be a little old fashioned, because of his age, of his job or whatever it is that’s holding him back, and honestly, that’s more than okay. She can wait. She’s been waiting, for him to make a move, to finally decide to _fuck_ her, to make love to her, to finally allow her to get this one thing she so desperately wants.

Seems like the time is now.

Still, the gift seems so forward, so obscene, so... _hot._ Fuck, it is hot, so very very hot, and she feels herself blush, her skin heating at the thought of him going to a lingerie store, choosing this for her, asking her to wear it, just so he can take it off with his hands and his mouth. _Jesus,_ she’s trembling, her skin burning, her lips parting at the sight of her hardening nipples in the mirror. It’s easy to see them through the fine silk of the nightgown, and she wonders if Jon expects her to walk out like this, to _show him_ how improper she’s looking, and _fuck,_ she’s surprised of how much she likes it, the thought of showing herself to him, the image of his eyes on her body while she stands in her underwear - because this hardly counts as clothing - in front of him, barefoot in the kitchen while he watches her.

The thought ignites a fire inside her, and she’s grateful for the late hour, for her friends being asleep, for the three shots of whiskey she drank earlier, giving her the courage she needs to open the door and walk back to him. She walks slowly down the hallway, her steps light as to not give away her approach, and she watches while Jon keeps his back to her, hands still busy with the dirty dishes. So attentive, he is, cleaning up for her even with the day he’s had, and it only leaves her more ready, needy, for him. She stops at the doorway, taking a deep breath, feeling silly for thinking about striking a pose, choosing instead to simply stand, her thumb finding it’s regular spot on her palm, gently pressing as she waits, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think?”

Jon jumps at the sound of her voice, a low chuckle escaping him while he turns around to look at her. “Jesus, Sans, I didn’t hear y-”

He stops mid sentence.

Her whole body feels hot as Jon’s eyes look her up and down, taking in every inch of her exposed skin, a shiver running through her at the intensity of his gaze. She watches as he swallows, throat moving, and she desperately wants to press a kiss there, to feel his pulse rising under her lips, to nibble at the sensitive skin. _Oh my indeed._

She wants him.

He wets his lips with his tongue and her mouth parts in response. 

She sucks in a breath at the sight of his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

The sink is still on.

The clock is ticking.

He opens his mouth, lets out a breath, finally speaks.

_“Fuck.”_

And he wants her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two coming very soon!
> 
> as always, english is not my first language so i hope you'll excuse any mistakes. i'm trying to improve myself always 😉
> 
> i'm @sansaravenclaw on tumblr if you ever feel like chatting.
> 
> please let me know what you think if you feel like it! thank you for reading XXXX


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the smut and fluff and no plot. i'm sorry.
> 
> to everyone who commented saying they wanted to know more, thank you for believing in me but i just don't have the range???? you are all too kind though. however, i briefly explained to user Taleweaver some plot ideas that i had in the back of my mind while deciding to write this, so if you're interested you can check that out in the comment section from the previous chapter. Also I'm so happy you all recognized that my inspiration for this was Mindhunter. it's one of my favorite shows (and also mani's, which is precisely why she's getting this fic as a gift. love you baby).
> 
> this is obviously to mani cause she is my best girl and i do anything for her, and also to olivia, who probably won't read this but if she does by any chance: girl, you're one of my favorite writers and this is 100% your fault.
> 
> also i kind of hate this? idk it's not my best work regarding smut, i think, but it happened and i'll let you guys be the judges.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Jon can’t think.

His mind is blank, his brain frozen. He’s all instinct and no logic and  _ Jesus fuck.  _

In the faint yellow light Sansa stands, barefoot on the kitchen floor. He knows that already, she has a habit of not wearing shoes inside the house and he thinks it’s something sweet, sort of innocent about her, and he likes that, yet he knows this already, seen it when she went to open the door to let him in, but her pink nailpolish is what makes his thoughts focus again. His eyes can only go up and so they go, up the long length of her legs, up her thighs, so bare, so exposed to him, stopping to take in the blue silk she’s wearing, the matching blue panties very much on display, and he swallows, his throat suddenly dry.  _ Fuck fuck fuck,  _ all he can think while his eyes continue up, taking in how the silk fits around her waist, gaze stuck on the little bow between the valley of her breasts, noticing how her nipples are undoubtedly hard and he can see  _ everything. _

His mouth is dry and he needs to wet it, needs to dart out his tongue and trace his lips with it and he hears her low gasp so his eyes are on her face now. She’s bushing, cheeks flushed pink, mouth parted, long red hair pushed back and his heart is hammering in his chest and  _ my God. _

_ “Fuck.” _

She smiles at him, takes a step forward, puts her hands on her hips, the gesture baring more of the skin of her thighs. His mind is half aware of how hard his cock is and he nearly dies right there in her kitchen. He thinks he still might. “So, do you like it?”

Does he  _ like it? _

He closes the sink, opens his mouth but the words won’t come out. His heart is racing. His cock twitches. _ I’m going to die.  _ He takes a breath to steady himself, tries to gain back some of his restraint, opens his mouth again.

“Sansa, what are you wearing?”

He barely registers the look of confusion on her face, his eyes once more stuck on the shape of her  _ so pretty and perky _ nipples. “What do you mean?” she asks, and he wills himself to turn his gaze back up, to realize that she’s looking a little unsure, and he’s quick to reply, fumbling with his words.

“I mean, you look just... _ gorgeous, _ Sansa, truly, I don’t-I’m just a little confused, I mean, wh-what-”

“It’s my gift, Jon. The one  _ you _ bought. You said I should try it on.”

Her gift.

The gift he bought her.

_ That’s  _ her gift?

He’s silent for a moment, the memories of that day at the shop slowly coming back to his still half-working brain. There was another customer inside the store, a blonde woman, probably in her late twenties. It was her wedding anniversary, he heard her tell the salesgirl, and she wanted to surprise her husband. He did his best not to pay attention to whatever it was she was buying, but the woman had the most unique pair of eyes, a deep violet, nothing like he'd ever seen before, and he was curious. Inquisitive, that's what his mother used to call him. Some people at the bureau said straight up nosy. Whatever it was, it held his attention towards her, and thus to the very  _ elegant _ nightgown she had in hand.

He quickly realizes that the salesgirl must've gotten the packages switched up, leaving the strange woman with the blue summer dress and him with the nightgown, the very same one Sansa is wearing right now.

_ And she looks amazing in it. _

"I didn't buy this for you," he blurts out.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You didn't buy this for me?"

"No, I didn't."

She crosses her arms over her chest, then, her lips pursing into a line before speaking, her tone sharper than before. "And  _ who _ exactly did you buy this for, Jon?"

_ Oh nonono shit _

He's very quick to reply. "Wait, I did buy this for you. I just didn't buy  _ this  _ for you." She raises an eyebrow at him. "I bought you a very lovely, very pretty summer dress, a blue one, to match your eyes, that I think you would like very much."

"That's not what was in the box."

He sighs, runs a hand through his curls. "Yes, I know, I can clearly see that. There was another customer at the store with me, I think the salesgirl got our purchases switched up."

"Oh." And she's blushing.

They stay in silence for what it feels like ages. Sansa’s blush spreads all over her cheeks and chest and neck, and she looks so beautiful. She's always beautiful, his Sansa - and the realization that he desperately wants this to be true, desperately wants her to be his, properly, truly, hits him hard, taking his breath away - but right now she's like a vision, all flushed pink and suddenly shy and just  _ practically bare _ to him.

“So,” she says, voice a little shy, a little unsure, and that has Jon smiling.

He only now realizes what a lucky bastard he is.

She thought this was the gift he bought her, and she wasn’t mad about it. No, not only was she not mad, but she also tried it on and came out to  _ show him  _ how she looked in it. Willingly. Cheekly, even, with her hands on her waist, actually striking a pose, for him to properly look at her.  _ Fuck.  _ He wonders if she knows how much she’s driving him crazy, how much he cares about her, how much he’s ready to fulfill every one of her wishes, if she only asks him to. It hits him now, hard, how eager he is to be hers, just as much as he’s eager to have her all to himself. He’s ready, yes.

He just wants to hear her say it first.

“Come here, baby.”

He extends a hand and Sansa rushes to him, closing the already short distance between them with a few hurried steps. She doesn’t seem phased from her lack of clothing other than her blush, but he feels her shiver when he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, making her stand on her tiptoes, feeling her hard nipples brushing his chest even through the silk of her nightgown and his cotton shirt. She feels warm on his arms, and he likes the way hers come to rest at his shoulders, hands at his nape, fingers intertwined on his curls, tugging just a little. It makes his cock twitch again, and he thinks she notices, from how her pupils widen and her lips part.

“So,” he mirros her, mouth so close to her lips he’s sure she feels his breath when he speaks. “You thought this was your gift?”

“Yes.”

He plants a kiss on her cheek, then, and comes to rest his mouth close to her ear. “And did you like it?” he whispers.

Another shiver, and she’s tugging at his curls more forcefully now, making Jon let out a low groan. “I did,” she tells him, lowering her eyes to his chest when she speaks. “Do you?”

His right hand comes up to cup her chin, tilting her face so she’s looking at him again. He reaches up his thumb, running it along her lower lip, pulling it down so her mouth is parted. “I do, baby,” he breathes out, voice a low whisper. “Very much so.”

And then he kisses her.

* * *

Trembling.

Her whole body is trembling. Why? She’s not sure. Probably something to do with the way Jon’s kissing her right now, one hand on her hair, the other at her waist, pressing her so hard against him it’s getting kind of hard to breathe. She doesn’t mind, though, doesn’t mind one bit. She would happily die like this, in Jon Snow’s arms, if it meant he would keep on kissing her like he’s doing now, urgently, like he needs them to be one and the same. She tugs on his curls again and he groans into her mouth and  _ fuck,  _ that feels good. Hearing him react like that, it feels really good and she wants to hear it again, wants to make him tremble as well, to get under his skin like he’s doing to her.

She was shy at first, with the whole _you’re not supposed to be wearing a blue silk nightgown ‘cause I didn't buy you a blue silk nightgown_ situation and she was even embarrassed for the jealousy she felt when she misread his words. But it was jealousy alright, her blood racing in her veins at the thought of him buying the lingerie to someone else, of him seeing someone else wear it, of him touching another woman, kissing another woman, like he kisses her. She’s not proud of it, of her reaction, of her possessiveness towards Jon, but he doesn’t seem to mind, not with the way he’s kissing her, not with the way he’s touching her, he doesn’t seem to mind at all that she feels entitled to own him.

His hand at her lower back moves down to cup her ass, making her moan, awakening something deep inside her, and she pushes him, not breaking their kiss, hands still on his hair, she pushes him until he hits the counter and she presses herself harder against him, her hips moving forward, grinding against his erection. That earns her another moan and she’s proud of herself, not minding the late hour, the fact that she has an early class tomorrow, not minding her lack of clothing or that they’re not alone in the house, and her roommates could come down at any second to get some water but she doesn’t care. Right now there’s only she and Jon, and his lips leave her mouth to kiss her chin, his hand tugs on her hair to expose her neck to him, and he kisses her there, his beard harsh against her soft skin, and she breathes out, body burning for him, grinding harder against his cock and  _ “Fuck, _ Jon, that feels so good.”

She feels him chuckle, his lips still pressed against her throat. “Language, Miss Stark”, and she could slap him, the bastard, she could really slap him for doing this, for having her cursing when she never curses, for kissing and sucking and nibbling so slowly she feels her toes curling with anticipation. He’s doing this on purpose, just to torment her, just to tease her, she knows it, and she’s loving this, she loves it, she loves hi-

_ “Jon.” _

She tugs on his hair and he brings his face up, looking her in the eye. “Yes?” His lips are so pink and swollen and his eyes are dark and hungry and she can’t think straight, she just wants to be with him and to help him feel as good as she’s feeling so she releases her hold on his hair with one hand, bringing it down his chest, feeling his strong muscles under his shirt, and she reaches lower still, fitting her hand between their bodies to cup his erection through his pants, her eyes never leaving his.

He sucks in a breath at the gesture.

She starts moving, using her palm to apply pressure and he groans, and she knows she should feel embarrassed at her boldness but she can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop staring at his eyes, so dark now, before they close and he throws back his head, a moan escaping his lips. She takes the opportunity to place her lips on his neck, softly, feeling his rapidly beating pulse under his skin, and she sucks him there, earning another moan from him and a whispered  _ Sansa. _ She wants to hear him say it again, her name, louder this time, wants to hear him moan louder too, wants to feel him trembling for her, and maybe this is payback for all the times he left her wanting more, maybe it’s payback for the way he made her fall so fast for him, she’s not sure, it doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that she knows what to do.

She pulls back her hands, coming to rest them at his chest, and he looks at her, lips half parted, cheeks flushed pink. Her own face is hot, she knows she must be as red as her hair by now but that hardly matters. She kisses him, gently, a brief brush of her lips against his, pulling back to lock her eyes with him.

And then she’s kneeling.

None of them speak. Their eyes are locked together the entire time and Jon opens his mouth as if he means to say something, but Sansa’s hands on his belt seems to shush him. He still has a hold on her hair, and she feels as his fingers clench and unclench. Other than that, he’s quiet, and she takes it as a sign that she can keep going. Her hands work on his belt, then his pants, the button, the zipper, slow, taking her time, her eyes still on him, right until she reaches down his underwear, freeing his member.

He lets out a shaky breath.

She looks at his cock.

Her first thought is that it’s bigger than Harry’s, and it embarasses her to think this, but it’s true. Her cheeks feel hot. Her whole body feels hot. Yes, he’s bigger than Harry was, thicker too, and he’s also uncircumcised, which is new for her. She wonders if she’ll be able to fit him down her throat, like she did for Harry.  _ This is indecent. I’m being indecent.  _ Her body is burning, she aches between her thighs. She imagines what it would feel like, to have him inside her.  _ Full. I would feel full.  _ The ache on her cunt grows.  _ Oh my.  _ She’s embarrassed at her thoughts, but they just keep coming. She’s not usually like this, but with Jon, it’s just...different. She feels different, more...free, to think and do and feel. And right now she wants him. She’s aching for him, in a way she has never ached for anyone before. It’s primal, it’s instinct, and it’s also warm. Caring. A need to be with him and only him, to be satiated, yes,  _ by him,  _ and to return it, equally. To find not only pleasure together, but something else too, something tender, something that reaches deep within her.

_ I’m not in love. _

The inner voice doesn’t convince her one bit, so she might as well be. She pushes the thought away, will think about it later, in the morning, two days from now, who knows? It doesn’t matter now. What matters is Jon, yes, her Jon, her Agent Snow, her man. He is hers, she knows it, no doubts about it now, not when she’s kneeling on the floor of her kitchen with his cock in her hand.

She darts her tongue out and licks at his tip.

Looks up at him while she does it.

His grip on her hair tightens.

“Sansa.”

She moves her hand up and down his length, slowly. He groans. She does it again, then flattens her tongue, taking him in her mouth. She sucks, moves her lips, takes him in as far as she can, twisting her hand at the base. She keeps going, taking him further every time, releasing him completely to lick him from base to tip, only to take his cock in again. She works slow, her eyes never leaving his face, not even when he throws his head back, groans loudly, her name a prayer on his lips.  _ Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.  _ His hand stays firm on her hair, other than that he doesn’t move, but she can feel him start to tremble. She feels proud to have him like this, vulnerable, so at her mercy, and she’s also proud, happy even, to be pleasing him. Yes, she’s happy, and she loves the way he says her name, loves how he’s shivering, loves that he’s still so gentle with her even when he’s on the edge, so she moves a little faster, sucks a little harder, taking him as far as she can, her hand stroking what she can’t fit in her mouth, and she can tell that he’s close from how his free hand braces against the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

_ “Sansa, _ baby, I’m gonna-”

But she doesn’t stop, keeps on moving, keeps her mouth on him, until she feels a tug on her hair, and he moves, tries to pull out, barely manages before he comes undone.

It lands everywhere.

Or her lips, her cheeks, chin, the tip of her nose.

Warmer than her face feels, sticky.

And his eyes are on her again.

* * *

Jon’s mouth feels dry.

He should’ve stopped her the moment she got down on her knees, but the way she was looking at him made it impossible to say anything.

So he stays quiet.

Until he can’t anymore, until all he knows is her name and the way she makes him feel.  _ Sansa.  _ They should name a saint after her, because she is holy.  _ Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. _ Sacred, even. Only Sansa could make a blowjob feel so...pure. The way she looks at him, in genuine  _ worship,  _ has him almost dying. Maybe he did die. Maybe he drowned in the tub after all and this is paradise. Except he wouldn’t go to heaven if he died, he knows that, not with the things going on on his mind. His dirty, filthy mind, who loves having Sansa on her knees for him. 

Fuck, he’s a bastard. 

There’s no denying it, he won’t deny it, he won’t deny her, ever, not once. Whatever she wants, whatever she needs, he’ll get her, he’ll do anything, he’s hers now. There’s no question about that, about how far he’s willing to go for her. That’s precisely why he didn’t want to come on her mouth. He was trying to be decent, to let her know, to warn her.

And now he fucked up.

The worst part, the sickest, nastiest part, is that he loved it. He  _ loves  _ it, the sight of her, on her knees, lips pink from working on him, blue eyes so innocent looking up.

And his cum all over her face.

Fuck, she looks  _ perfect,  _ and he knows better. He shouldn’t enjoy this. No, he should apologize and somehow try and make to fix it and he shouldn’t, in no circumstances, be thinking about how good it would feel to fuck her right now, on her hands and knees, right here on the kitchen floor, his hand around her throath and her face still sticky from his cum.

_ I’m going to hell. _

He still hasn’t said a word when she pushes his cock back down his underwear, zipping him up, and begins to stand. Her eyes are still on him and he sees how much she’s blushing and  _ my God,  _ he wants to kiss her, he really wants to kiss her. He reaches a hand to his side, grabbing at one of the cloth napkins from their dinner, and he cleans her up. Her chin, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, he gets everything with shaky fingers while she watches him, quietly, eyes never leaving his.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, unsure of what is the right procedure to handle a  _ I accidentally cumed on my girlfriend’s face  _ situation.

_ \- Jesus Christ, she is my girlfriend, isn’t she? Maybe this is paradise. -  _

“It’s okay,” she replies, her voice a little hoarse, and she bites on her lip. She looks like she wants to say more, so he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, gentle, and tries to encourage her.

That’s when she kills him.

“I liked it.”

_ Fuck. _

Sansa Stark is out of his league. He knows it, has been aware of it for the entirety of their relationship, still hasn’t figured out why she accepted to go out with him in the first place. She is young, beautiful, so incredibly smart, and she has just given him the best blowjob of his life, no doubt in that. This girl is a dream. He’s perfectly aware of how lucky he is, of how grateful he should be to the universe, to God, for letting this happen, for giving him this, her.

And now she’s telling him that she enjoyed when he cummed on her face?

No.

She can’t do that.

She can’t say that, she can’t make him feel like this. She is driving him crazy. Does she realize how mad he is for her, how already completely at her mercy he is? Does she have any idea of the hell he’s been going through these past two weeks where he couldn’t be near her, couldn’t stop thinking about her for one second to do his job right? This isn’t fair, this is so not fair  _ at all. _

Damn it.

He runs a hand through his hair, tries to collect himself.

_ “Fuck, Sansa.” _

He fails.

“What?”

“You can’t say things like that to me.”

“I don’t-”

But he doesn’t let her finish, just pulls her back to him with force.

And then he kisses her.

It’s hard and urgent and it throws her off balance, but he doesn’t care one bit because he’s holding onto her for dear life. His tongue is on her mouth and his hands are on her ass and suddenly he pulls away, giving her no time to recover before he’s lowering himself, hands moving to her waist, grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder.

Fuck.

This.

She lets out a surprised little yelp, bracing her hands against his lower back to steady herself. “What the hell, Jon?!”

He’s already walking towards the stairs, grip on her strong, one hand on her ass, the other around her thighs. “I told you,” he says, going up two steps at a time. “You can’t say things like that to me.”

They get to the second floor and he lowers his voice, knowing her roommates might still be up, not wanting to draw attention. “Which door, sweetheart?”

“Second to the left.”

And then he’s moving again.

Her room is dark, but her curtains are open and a faint light comes in from a street lamp. He pays little attention to the decour, his eyes going straight to her perfectly made bed, a small teddy bear braced along her pillows. He chuckles at the irony of it, but it makes sense. He knows she’s actually really sweet, his Sansa. She’s been sweet to him all night, and all the nights before today, and during all their times together, she’s been nothing but sweet, and kind, and considerate. She makes him feel seen, in a way he never thought he needed, but now that he has it it’s hard to imagine his life without her. Sansa Stark has truly ruined him for any other woman, which is perfectly fine in his opinion because he doesn’t plan on there ever being another woman ever again. 

Sansa’s is  _ it  _ for him.

He just knows it.

_ I love her. _

He doesn’t dwell much on it right now, his mind focused on something else. He drops her to the bed, gently, and he hovers over her, lips finding hers in the dark, his mouth hungry for her kisses. She makes a whimpering sound at the back of her throat and he likes it, wants to hear her make all kinds of sounds, wants to hear her say his name, but he knows they’re not alone in the house and that makes him regain some of his senses. He breaks their kiss, one hand coming to grab at her chin, the other still holding himself over her on the bed. He leaves a trail of kisses from her cheek to her ear, soft kisses, feeling how warm she is under him.

“Now, I’m gonna need you to be a good girl for me, baby, and be quiet, okay? We don’t want to wake up your friends, do we?” 

“No.” She whispers back to him.

“Good. So will you do your best to keep quiet for me, baby?”

“I will.”

“That’s my girl.” And if they were alone he would give her ass a light spank, just because. “Now lay back down.”

She does as he says and Jon takes a moment to look at her. The street lamp doesn’t do much but his eyes get used to the darkness and his fingers trace down from her neck to her shoulder, down her right arm and up again, feeling the goosebumps on her skin. He finds her eyes and they stay like that for a moment, his fingers caressing her gently, his hand going up her neck again, then down her chest, lightly brushing her right niple and she whines, lower this time, and whispers his name.

That gets him moving, mouth coming to taste the soft skin of her throat, and he can’t help but suck on it, surely leaving a mark. Her hands go to his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, fingers tugging hard on his curls, and he loves it. He groans into her skin, keeps kissing her, mouth moving down, to her collarbone, her chest, right above her breasts. He uses his teeth to pull down on the silk of her nightgown, baring her nipples to him, and he plants a kiss on her left breast, grazing his tongue lightly on her sensitive skin. 

The grip on his hair tightens.

She whimpers.

_ “Jon.” _

He shushes her, mouth still at her breast, waits until she quiets down, continues to lick and suck and nibble, until she’s squirming beneath him. He moves then, pays the same treatment to her right breast, all at a slow pace, and he loves the way she trembles, loves how tight she’s holding his curls, loves the little sound she makes whenever he flicks his tongue on her nipple.

“Jon,  _ please.” _

He chuckles on her skin. God, how he loves her breasts, loves how soft they are under his lips, could worship her like this all night if he had to, yet he won’t torture her any longer, not today, no, there will be time for that later, there’ll be time to make her whine and plea and beg, but tonight he just wants her to feel as good as he did, wants to be gentle, to take care of her, like she always does for him. So he moves again, pushing the hem of her nightgown up to expose her stomach, planting light kisses there while he moves down to kneel at the floor, pulling Sansa’s body with him so she’s near the end of the bed. He hooks his thumbs on the edges of her panties and she moves, helping him take them off. The scent of her arousal fills the room, or maybe his senses are just heightened by the dark, but he can tell without even touching her that she’s soaked. It leaves his mouth watering, and he grabs at her legs, putting each one over his shoulders, pulling her closer to him still, so that her cunt is right at the edge of the mattress. He places one hand on her ass, the other on her stomach, holding her down while he moves forward, taking a first taste of her warmth.

Sansa whimpers again, too loud.

He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, speaks against her skin.  _ “Shhh, _ baby, you need to be quiet.”

“I know,” she breathes out, exasperated. “I’m sorry.”

He grins, kissing her thigh again. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” He moves his hand from her ass, his fingers coming to spread her open for him, and he licks at her folds again, burying his face on her cunt more forcefully, her arousal smeared all over his lips and beard. “Fuck, Sansa.” He moves his hand so that his thumb starts circling slowly at her clit. “You’re so wet, did you know that?”

He looks up at her and even in the faint light he can see that her eyes are shut, one of her hands near her face, the other still on his hair. “I know,” she tells him. She looks like a goddess, breasts exposed, nightgown bunched up on her waist, legs resting on his shoulders, cunt spread open for him, and he can feel himself getting hard again.

“You do, huh?” He asks, thumb still working slow and steady at her nub, tongue darting out to lick her again. “Did you feel it when you were sucking my cock? Did you enjoy it, baby?”

_ “Yes.  _ Yes, I did.”

She will be the death of him.

Jon replaces his thumb with his mouth, earning a muffled moan out of her. His eyes look up to see that she’s biting on her fist to keep quiet, and he smiles against her before resuming his attention on her cunt. He sucks, hard, flicks his tongue, sucks again, never stopping, while he pushes his index and middle finger inside her. She squirms under him, his arm coming to circle down against her belly, holding her down while he pumps his fingers in and out of her, mouth still working on her clit. She begins to shiver, her heels pushing hard against his back, but he keeps a steady pace, fingers curling inside her whenever they go in, her arousal soaking his beard and chin while he keeps on tasting her, delighted with the feel of her on his lips.

“Jon,  _ please,  _ can you just-”

And she moans again, but he takes his time, prolonging her climax as much as he can, not at all eager to leave the sweet warmth between her thighs. He sucks and kisses and licks, while she squirms and shivers and whimpers.  _ JonJonJon,  _ and then she’s tugging on his hair with such force it pains him but he doesn’t stop, her moans sounding muffled again, until her body is spasming under his grasp and her walls clench around his fingers and her thighs almost crush him with the force of her orgasm.

She releases the hold on his hair while he pulls his fingers out of her, mouth licking her folds a few times despite her still being so sensible, lips then coming to find their place back on the inside of her thigh. She’s breathless under him and he’s proud of that, moving her legs from his shoulders so that he can properly kneel, watching as she calms down from her high. His fingers are slick with her, and he brings them to his lips, eyes locking with hers while he licks them clean of her wetness.

_ “Fuck.” _

That’s the second time she swears tonight.

And it makes him proud.

* * *

She’s spent.

Screw Agent Snow and his magic tongue.

It’s a good kind of spent, thought, the kind that leaves her warm and fuzzy inside. She hasn’t felt that relaxed in a while - she hasn’t been eaten out this good in a  _ long  _ while - and she would be ready to drift off into a blissful sleep, if it wasn’t for the man now coming to hover over her.

Jon kisses her and she can taste herself on his tongue. It leaves her mad with want, needing to be closer to him, needing to take off his clothes and feel him and taste  _ him _ again and be with him all the way. She starts working on the buttons of his shirt, lips still on his, when he stops her hands, speaking against her mouth.

“Come home with me.”

And fuck, she wants to. Right now, she would go anywhere with him, do anything he asks of her, but she has an early class and it’s probably already midnight and the girls would be wondering after her and it just won’t work, not right now, not tonight.

It takes her all her strength to say it.

“I can’t.”

He opens his mouth to speak again but she shushes him with a hurried kiss, then she’s blurting out the words before she loses her courage. “But you could stay.”

Then he’s quiet.

“Only if you want to.” And she knows what she’s asking of him, knows very well.  _ Stay, even after driving that long, even after sleeping weeks at a strange bed, even if you didn’t bring any change of clothes, even if you’ll have to face my roommates and their nosy questions in the morning and the curious neighbours, even if I might kick you in my sleep, please, stay. _

“Are you sure?” He asks her, his thumb coming to brush at her cheek, softly, sweetly, like he is, always so sweet, and considerate and kind and perfect. He’s just like that, Jon, naturally, without her having to ask him to be.

And it hits her.

_ Wow. _

“Yes,” she whispers, suddenly feeling shy. But he’s here and he drove eleven hours to see her and he just made her come so good and sweet and  _ oh my, yes, wow indeed.  _ “I want you to. Please stay.”

There’s a moment, not long, just a moment, where they’re both in silence, looking at each other, and she forgets about everything else, about her roommates and her classes and the dirty dishes, there’s only them, and this bed, and them together in this bed, and she’s sure she could be here forever, would die happily here, in his arms, she’s sure of it.

Then he’s kissing her, and she feels him smiling against her lips, so she smiles too, tries to deepen the kiss, and he snakes an arm around her waist, rolling over so she’s on top of him, and she’s laughing now, at their lack of grace, but they stay kissing, until his mouth leaves her lips, moving to her cheek and then her ear. “I’ll stay, Sans. But I won’t make love to you tonight.”

_ Make love. _

She’s blushing and smiling and can’t even feel sad about it, is only curious as to why.

“I’m guessing you have a perfectly good explanation.”

“I do,” and he bites on her earlobe, sending shivers down her spine before speaking. “I want you screaming my name when I’m inside you, baby, and you promised me you’d be quiet tonight. We don’t want to wake up your friends, do we?”

_ Fuck. _

She’s tempted to slap him.

“You know what, Jon Snow?” She says, pushing herself up so she’s the one hovering over him now.

He chuckles, hands reaching up to put her nightgown back in place, fingers caressing her skin while he speaks. “What?”

_ I love you. _

But she simply smiles at him. “I’m glad you made it to dinner.”

And he smiles back.

“So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so? 🥺
> 
> as always, english is not my first language and this probably has a lot of mistakes, i'm very sorry about that.
> 
> i'm @sansaravenclaw on tumblr if you ever wanna chat!
> 
> love y'all, bye ❤❤❤


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